I See You in December's Snow
by Moksgmol
Summary: Ron and Hermione didn't survive the war; this is Harry's first Christmas without them. Inspired by Sarah McLachlan's Wintersong. Please enjoy, and I wish you and yours a belated Happy Holidays :
1. Chapter 1

_The lake is frozen over _

_The trees are white with snow _

_And all around reminders of you _

_Are everywhere I go _

_-Sarah McLachlan, _**_Wintersong _**

He made his way slowly down the Hogwarts steps into the snow; the students had been given Christmas Eve at Hogsmeade, leaving the white in front of the castle pristine and untouched. Harry found himself knee-deep in drifts, the damp licking up his dark robes, frosty air chilling the wet fabric.

He found himself wishing for bluebell fire; flames he hadn't seen in months.

He passed the barren and leafless trees, not bothering to use his wand to see; the moon reflected off the snow, giving him enough light to make his way across the grounds, though Harry knew them so well that he scarcely needed the help.

The Quidditch pitch was on his left, and he found himself slowing, staring at the deserted seats, the snow covered hoops...

_'Harry, you should've seen the look on Snape's face when he realized he was on fire! He-' _

_'Honestly Ron, the real point here is that-' Hermione began. _

_'I wish I could have!' Harry cut across her, 'Amazing, Hermione! And-' Harry broke off at her peevish look, and gave her a sheepish grin. 'Okay, okay, you're right; we should be focusing on the stone. Thanks, though; you really saved my neck out there.' _

_'And you __**were**__ bloody brilliant!' piped Ron. _

_Hermione rolled her eyes at this, but Harry caught the hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth as they began the trek from the Quidditch pitch to the castle._

A light breeze blew by, ruffling his hair, and Harry was startled out of his reverie; for a moment, the wind through the frozen branches had sounded almost like 'Weasley is our King.'

Hunching his shoulders slightly, Harry turned away and trudged through the grounds, passing the greenhouses without pause. The glass buildings were where Harry was pretty sure that they had realized they were in love, and where, in the same lesson, Harry had contemplated what it would be like to be the forgotten third wheel should they ever get together. Harry now knew, though, that he would be happier just to watch them together, to hear them argue, to feel their life and to know that they were happy, than to have the emptiness he had now.

Just then a familiar and ominous creaking caused Harry to whip his head around, but he saw only the whomping willow irritably twitching snow off of itself. Against the almost painfully bright snowlight, the shape of the willow's dark and gnarled trunk was clearly visible. Harry's eyes sought out the knot near its roots, half expecting Crookshanks to appear and press it. When the cat, unsurprisingly, didn't appear, Harry almost wanted to push the knot himself, and to sit on the ground near the tree's base, where the trio had found their first real truths about the current state of the wizarding world and, more importantly, had been - if only briefly because of Professor Lupin and other relatively urgent circumstances - happy having had the first victory against Voldemort together.

Letting out a shaky, frost-tinted breath, Harry let his eyes roam the grounds, recalling lessons past, knowing not snow and silence, but seeing Hermione's face after experiencing her first boggart in third year, hearing Ron's indignant complaints about leprechaun gold and Christmas presents in fourth year, and recalling their proud - and in Hermione's case, rather relieved - expressions as he touched down astride Buckbeak.

His eyes followed the dark line of trees that marked the edge of the Forbidden Forest and he wondered if the Ford Anglia was still in there, and if students still had detention in the Forest, like he and Hermione in first year, and a thousand other wonders came to his mind until it was full, and if only he could have more, because memory alone was not enough, and... and there was Hagrid's hut, visible only by the soft light peaking around the edges of the curtains in the windows, its dark shape standing silent vigil over the snowy grounds.

The ratty building had housed many of their fondest times, and the words _never again _forced their way the front of Harry's thoughts. Never again would the trio sneak down to see Hagrid at all hours of the day and night, never again would they huddle together under the invisibility cloak, hiding from an authority figure, never again would they be alarmed over Hagrid's new idea for a pet; never again would the smell of a freshly belched slug, courtesy of Ron, burn Harry's nostrils; never again would he look into Hermione's steely, determined, frightened eyes as she helped him to lift Norbert's crate.

These thoughts occupied Harry until his feet stopped and he found that he was at his destination. It was now that liquid burned his dry eyes; now that the icy north wind froze his tears into a thin crust of ice - his bodies own way of preventing him from crying. His tears weren't warm enough to fall; he was too cold to be comforted.

His knees bent suddenly, and he hit the ground with a dull crunch, breaking through a layer of ice and into the powdery snow beneath. He reached out a hand and rested it on the tree's trunk, before letting his eyes look out over the lake.

A thick layer of ice coated the surface, but Harry could still make out the Giant Squid's tentacles playing against the ice, looking almost as though it were trying to force its way out of its frozen cage.

How very metaphorical.

Harry turned his gaze back toward the tree, under whose bough's the trio had spent happier times. He recalled them huddling together on chilly days, concealing bluebell flames behind them, unsure as to whether they were totally permitted, but too cold for even Hermione to refuse their use. It was times like those that Harry and Ron had truly appreciated Hermione's newly acquired aversion to the rules. How he missed their warmth beside him, so much more than those flames. Ron's leg against his, Hermione's shoulder against him; on some days just Ron, as Hermione was on the red-haired boy's other side, ignoring their talk of Quidditch, her nose buried in a book; as they got older it was Hermione between them, with her smaller frame, her shoulders closer to their elbows than their shoulders.

Harry had loved the warmer weather, the three of them sprawled on the green, shaded by the leaves, a piece of grass often between Ron's lips. After exams had been the best, once Hermione had stopped wanting to rehash all of their answers; they hadn't a care in the world… they had laughed and joked, and not even thoughts of Voldemort had tarnished their lazy, sunshine-filled afternoons.

It was under this very tree that Harry had come after Dumbledore's funeral, on this very spot that he had looked forward to Bill and Fleur's wedding, to that one last day of golden peace with Ron and Hermione. That day had been marred, however, and so had every other that followed.

And now they were gone, but they had left behind a mark on Harry more painful than his scar could ever be. Every place that Harry held dear was steeped in their memory; every time his eyes opened their imprint was there, upon everything, and Harry was empty but for an intense longing. Adumbrations of Ron and Hermione were constant, an ever-present reminder to Harry's aching soul.

_Alright, I know it's a little bit late, but to be honest, I started before Christmas; it's just taken me a while to get everything exactly the way I wanted it. And it's not formatted exactly the way I'd like, but wouldn't let me change it. More chapters to come, the next one hopefully within the week. All the chapters will be based on different verses from Wintersong; it's a brilliant piece, I highly recommend you give it a listen. I came up with the idea for this fic while listening to it, it just seemed to fit, and it almost made me cry when I thought about Harry without Ron and Hermione during his first Christmas after the war. Hope that you like it, reviews would be lovely :)_

_Cheers, Moksgmol_


	2. Chapter 2

_It's late and morning's in no hurry_

_and sleep won't let me go_

_I lie awake and try to recall_

_How your body felt beside me_

_But silence gets too hard to handle_

_and the night too long_

_- Sarah McLachlan, **Wintersong**_

Harry rolled over and opened his eyes to see snowflakes outside his dormitory window. Christmas day snowflakes.

Something was wrong, and with a start Harry realized that this was the first Christmas morning in eight years that Harry had been allowed to wake up on his own on Christmas morn - there had been no 'Oy' from Ron, accompanied soon after by a package landing atop Harry's face. Hermione would not be coming to join them soon after, ignoring Ron's protests, plunking herself down onto the end of one of their beds and handing out presents. The dorm had been devoid of all but the three of them, and they had unpackaged their presents together, Hermione and Harry enjoying themselves while Ron, who always opened all of his presents before them, rubbed his stomach and lamented about being slow to breakfast. Eventually they caved and gave in to Ron; the three had headed down the spiral stairs together and made their way down to the Great Hall for a spectacular brunch.

Now the dorm was empty and cold without them, and Harry stayed cocooned in his blankets for hours. The phantom taste of kippers and eggs from the Christmas' past could not lure him to the Great Hall, and he remained in his bed, the only taste on his tongue the bitter salt of the tears rolling down his cheeks, dribbling past his lips.

He recalled all of the presents they had exchanged; each of their gifts was dear to him - they were all safely stored in his trunk, where he was able to see them often - to hold them and remember. To imagine their hands where his sat as they picked it up off the shelf to purchase it, as they wrapped it in brightly coloured paper. Hermione's gifts had always been neatly packaged, the corners tucked, the paper firmly creased. Harry could see her in his mind's eye, wrapping presents as thoroughly as she studied, everything she needed neatly arranged around her as conveniently as possible, a contented smile on her face. He could almost here her humming muggle Christmas carols. Ron's gifts looked to be almost hastily wrapped by comparison, and one could almost infer that he didn't care about doing a good job of it. That thought had never crossed Harry's mind, though; he could imagine Ron, far less organize than Hermione, grumbling while he searched for tape or a bigger piece of wrap, inevitably crumpling the paper by his own hand or by an ill-fated attempt to magic his way out of a mess, though he invariably ended up making a bigger one.

Harry eventually pushed his way out of his four-poster, ignoring the cold on the soles of his feet as he padded toward his trunk. He crouched down slowly, reaching forward, letting his fingers rest a moment on the metal latches before flicking them open and lifting the lid, exposing the messy contents to the silent room. After shifting some of his clothes he found what he was looking for; a small, inconspicuous, fabric-covered box. He gently picked it up and carried it back to the bed, settling atop the covers cross-legged, the box resting in his lap.

Harry lifted the top off and put it down beside him, revealing that the inside of the box was bigger inside than it should be; he was, of course, a wizard now, and though the inside of the box wasn't nearly as large as Hermione's beaded bag had been, it was enough. He reached in with trembling fingers, allowing them to wander until they found the edge of a violently orange book. He pulled out _Flying With the Cannons_, and after a cursory glance at the cover he opened the book, its spine creaking softly in the still morning air; he flipped through the pages, looking at the moving pictures, running his fingers over the comments Ron had left on the books pages, along with his attempts to successfully draw the team's logo . When Harry was done the sun was just starting to rise, light slowly leaking in through the windows. He closed the book perhaps a little too quickly and a breath of air escaped, sending the dust motes around him swirling through the streaks of sun that was now flooding through the windows. He reached into the box again, pulling out another book; this time it was _Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland._ He opened the front cover to see Hermione's tidy writing: _'Merry Christmas, Harry! Love from Hermione'_ He ran his fingers over the words before closing the book and setting it aside before reaching once again into the box. He sifted slowly through the rest of the contents - an eagle feather quill and a rather chatty homework planner from Hermione, a bag that had once contained dung bombs from Ron, and, of course, chocolate frog cards - including the Dumbledore card that had tipped the trio off to Nicholas Flamel's identity and the stone; it had been the last frog in the box Hermione had given him for Christmas that year - and various other sweet wrappers and boxes they had given him on Christmas that Harry had salvaged from his trunk and had carefully placed inside the box.

Once finished Harry gently put everything safely away he slid off the bed, cradling the gift-box in his arms. He placed it back into his trunk, replacing its covering of his clothes, before digging out his invisibility cloak . He then shut the trunk and shoved it under the bed until it was out of sight, but under where he would lay.

Satisfied, Harry pulled the cloak on and crawled into bed, where he spent his afternoon, invisible and silent, mourning the loss of his better two thirds.

_Well, here you are; second chapter finally finished! Not quite what I wanted it to be, but I already took double the time I was planning on, so I figured that I'd get it up. Looking forward to writing chapter four, just have to get through chapter three first! Super busy this week, though, so we'll have to see how it goes. Oh, and thanks so much to Becky143jonas for the review! More, of course, are always appreciated, but if not I hope that you enjoy the story just the same. I am, after all, writing for myself first and foremost :) Tataa for now._

_Cheerio(s), Moksgmol_

_Oh, and I don't own _Harry Potter _or any affiliated intellectual property._


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